


show me how you crawl

by icarusian



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, excessive use of the em dash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 13:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusian/pseuds/icarusian
Summary: “You missed a spot.”





	show me how you crawl

**Author's Note:**

> hi promare fandom!!! you're going to be seeing a lot more of me, so buy my silence.
> 
> i'd like to dedicate this fic to the promare hell discord server, especially plague, nimo, and vee. you three have been pushing me and providing feedback like nobody's business and i just wanna [gets on one knee and pulls out a ring]
> 
> i've never in my whole life considered boot worship until i was like, it's not about the boot... it's about the headspace when you're with the boot.
> 
> title from get on your knees by nicki minaj ft. ariana grande

Respect has always played a big role in Galo's life. He's never been short of figures to emulate, constantly striving to be the best version of himself and bending the rules just enough to get himself noticed and constructively criticized. He's lucky enough to have so many people in his life willing to let him thrive, like Kray, Ignis, and even the citizens he saves on the daily.

To look up to Kray was to hold admiration, respect, and intimidation. Aside from the whole 'governor' thing, and childhood hero, and multi-billionaire, and genius, and... 

But to stare into life itself, feel that white-hot wall nearly consume you only to see its master tame and claim it as if he were its rightful king— and rule as such with legs spread wide and chin propped up in that devil-may-care fashion— that’s _ reverence_. That’s a challenge from a true leader. Something knotted and tight twists in his abdomen, pushing against his ribs as it makes its way through his heart because the way this undoubtedly powerful Mad Burnish regards him doesn’t just spark his unending need to prove himself— it sets that need ablaze like a hunger he’s never felt. 

He is Galo Thymos, and he will earn the gaze of the Burnish boss. 

He can feel a permanently sharp grin bore into his every move as he apprehends one Mad Burnish, then another until both are stripped of their armor and securely cast aside. They aren’t his main goal anyways, his single-handed feat a mere precursor to his ultimate prize.

The Mad Burnish stays perched upon his throne, assessing the situation at hand, but Galo can’t wait any longer for the chance to taste true victory and sear his name into the heart of someone so far from his grasp, so he does what he knows best: Galo opens his mouth.

The Burnish Boss stands, but he does not abandon his throne. Rather, he morphs the flames into a motorcycle not unlike those of his friends, legs spread wide once more to straddle the seat and maintain the regality he seems to carry himself with. Galo is quick to accommodate his approach, but he can’t help wondering just what about this Mad Burnish, this mission, this _ man _ is making him feel so earnest and reckless. 

_ The hero always takes down the biggest baddie after all the other goons, and of course I’d save the best for last! _ Besides, he’s part of the rescue squad and has to show everyone what he’s truly capable of if given the chance. 

This is what Galo tells himself as the boss’ flaming motorcycle burns up into his internal inferno, and their fight continues on equal footing. This is the mantra he struggles to hold at the forefront of his intentions as he pushes back and meets the same resistance (something unheard of for his strength; it’s never felt this thrilling to brawl). They parry, dodge, send the elements flying and Galo can’t stop _ smiling_, even— _ especially_— when he manages to get the upper hand in their stalemate and break half of the grinning helmet right off the leader's face. 

It's like looking into the timer of a bomb that's t-minus five seconds from blowing up the entire building and being unable to do nothing but freeze, for no other reason than pure resignation to one's fate. Galo likens it to what pyromaniacs probably feel when they see him barreling towards their criminal selves at full speed. 

Or, it _ would _ be like all that and more, Galo thinks, if it weren't a literal comparison to its core, complete with pyromaniacs and impending concrete fireworks. 

He's a little caught up in how something the color of— onions on his pizza, or reflected moonlight at the lake, or— Galo doesn't know but he can't stop riding the adrenaline waves from having the eyes of this Mad Burnish on him. He's really _ seeing _ Galo, treating him as worthy of facing the rampant power that runs through only those who bear fire like Olympians. He could fall here and still feel that manly honor of losing to a worthy opponent, one whose ferocity and passion match his own in spades, leaving no room for regrets. 

It's dramatic with heaps of martyrdom and passion for one's calling, so it's really a shame Galo has no intention of falling here. 

Despite the blistering rage he's facing head-on (literally, forehead to forehead), he gets the name of the man behind the mask but it's not imparted upon him like spoils for a battle well-fought. It’s spitfire, embers barely stinging his lips to act as a ward. 

“Lio Fotia.”

▼▲▼

Galo’s never cared about abiding by the rules if it meant he could save a life or seek justice in the world, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the praise and pride that followed. The feeling of being told _ good job _and rewarded for his efforts far outweighed being lightly scolded for risking his own life. Lio was one rule he never gave a second thought to breaking, especially when the risk brought high returns. 

“You missed a spot.” 

His urgency flares, dragging his tongue over the spot again and again, ears perked for any noise of approval Lio will grant him. Like this, on the carpet of their bedroom and kneeling at Lio’s feet, Galo can’t help but feel like a dog that’s been well-trained on a bell. Only, the bell is Lio’s pair of freshly-cleaned boots, and Galo’s training is to wet his lips on sight.

“To the left,” Lio says, boredom and frustration coloring his voice. Galo can barely tell his right from his left, head a mess of heat with only one thing in mind, but he tries. He swipes his tongue on a mostly-dried patch closer to the toe of his boot and desperately hopes he moved in the right direction, because he always wants to do his best for Lio. “I said to the left, Galo,” Lio scolds, moving his boot along Galo’s outstretched tongue to prove his point. The rough drag combined with his sticky tongue is too dry, but he’s not done— 

Lio pulls his foot away and gently taps it under his chin, tilting Galo’s aching jaw to face him.

“Focus. You’re being sloppier than usual, and you still have one more to clean. What do you need?” Lio asks, hands folded under his chin and eyes seeing right through Galo. It scared him at first, how easily Lio adapted to him. Lio always seemed to know exactly what Galo needed, whether it be freedom on a rescue mission or a deep-dish pizza immediately after sex, and he’s never not reminded of the fierce Mad Burnish he once faced in the most thrilling fight of his life. 

As much as Galo wants to pop off to Lio and ignite their comfortably playful banter, he knows far too well how little reign he has on the leash. Lio arches one immaculate eyebrow, expectant, and Galo can’t find it in him to prolong what they both know is inevitable.

Galo stares into Lio’s eyes and obediently raises three fingers. 

Lio’s tight lips twitch up momentarily like he just couldn’t help it (Galo lights up at Lio’s smile without fail, no matter how brief), and he lowers his foot to the carpet. He grabs the water bottle sitting on the side table and brings it to Galo’s parted lips. 

“Open.”

Good thing opening his mouth is Galo’s special talent.

It's intentional how Lio has pulled the strings to get Galo where he wants. The push and pull they usually exhibit is meticulously stripped down to the bone and restructured in a way that makes Galo utterly helpless without Lio, a mere marionette bound to its master. And isn't that what he wanted? To look up and see someone so precious and revered giving him attention and praise and _ love _ because he earned it? 

And it is an act of love, Lio gently tipping the bottle for Galo to drink from like it's a communion. It's love when Galo pulls back after two drinks and returns to the task at foot with all the fervor and desperation only holy motivation can provide, Lio's soft noise of surprise and Galo's over-eager tongue intent on making him proud. Lio may not have his throne of flames any longer, but Galo may as well be requesting nightly audiences regardless.

It's love because Lio's doing all this for Galo and expecting only Galo's satisfaction in return. 

Galo remembers the ritual well and tops off his work with a single kiss pressed to Lio's knee, only to nuzzle his other ankle in a silent request for him to let Galo finish carrying out his duty. 

Lio indulges, uncrossing and recrossing his legs to put his untouched boot in front of Galo. He smiles down at Galo approvingly, eyes bright and cheeks gently flushed from watching Galo treat him like something to be cherished. And it's that look, Lio a vision of subtle affection and adoration near-that of how Galo feels cleaning Lio's boots, that finally solidifies Galo in his role. 

It feels like letting some base instinct overtake, inhaling the leather like pheromones and attempting to pull it straight from the source with the way his tongue curls. He runs the flat of his tongue over the first lace once Lio has adjusted his footing, and the movement alone flares his arousal because they're both nearing the breaking point. Galo wonders how cruel Lio will be tonight, if he'll seek his own pleasure first or force Galo to endure this equal-parts denial and indulgence for another scene. He'll be good regardless, but the longer he spends cleaning Lio's boots like he was made to serve (maybe he was), the harder it is to ignore the signs of Lio's arousal, let alone his _ own. _

The pressure mounts but Galo is dutiful and eager for the impending rapture, so he cleans diligently, whimpering all the while but deems his work good and says amen in the form of that final kiss on Lio's knee. He sits back and looks up, once again emulating a dog ready for its treat after following his command. His gaze falls on Lio's deeply flushed face, parted lips and hooded eyes, and erection straining against the confines of Lio's pants.

"Galo." This isn't fair. 

"You did well." This is _ so _not fair. 

Watching Lio's gloved fingers pinch and drag his zipper down is gasoline to the fire in his belly, and the tight wiggle to get Lio's (blessedly beltless) pants down just enough to let his flushed cock spring free is little more than the devil himself tempting Galo to the ninth circle.

But Lio's cock is right there.

"I think you've earned it." 

He hesitates just long enough for Lio to stand, presenting Galo with his reward, but that's all it takes. He's been so good after all. 

Galo can't help the relieved moan that muffles itself around Lio's length. This is what he wanted, Lio's hand keeping his bangs pushed back and hips pushed forward, soft and dirty words praising him for a job well done, Galo did _ so well, you're so good to me, you know that? _followed by a few short, can't-get-enough thrusts against the tongue used not moments ago to lick Lio's boots clean. 

Lio pulls him off with a pleased moan, just to gaze down and admire Galo's near-desperate disposition, but Galo makes the fatal mistake of lunging against his hold because he hasn't finished Lio off, hasn't fully reaped what he has sown— 

"_Off, _ " Lio harshly commands. No, _ no_, not when he finally got what he wanted, _ anything _but this— 

"Are you that needy that you're willing to get my boots dirty again? Haven't had enough groveling for one night?" 

Galo doesn't understand until he feels Lio's foot flex where Galo is straddling it, wet dick pressed incessantly against the smooth flank of leather on either side of the laces. He sunk so deeply into the motions of pleasure his body moved on autopilot, mouth working and hips seeking the same treatment on whatever they could find. Lio considers Galo, grip loose and hand carding through his hair at a thoughtful pace. 

"Do you want it Galo? You can speak now." 

"_Please," _Galo answers, grateful to finally use his mouth for something other than whining around Lio’s dick. Not that he doesn’t love it, he just isn’t used to keeping quiet. Lio smiles, a blend of oily triumph and watery affection washing over his face. Galo makes a noise of surprise when Lio easily slides back into his slick mouth, hips undulating in a way that lets Galo know he’s just something to be used, something for Lio’s pleasure alone. 

Galo’s pleasure is forgotten only momentarily as he accommodates Lio once more, his own instincts hazily taking over how he presses against Lio’s boot and starts rubbing up and down, struggling to gain any consistent pleasure from the thin surface area. 

_ Let him use me_, Galo thinks. Grip onto Lio’s prominent hips, thumbs tucked into the divots of his bones, because the way Lio is openly moaning and taking what’s offered so willingly is just this side of too much so _ let him use me_. Galo prides himself on always rising up to a challenge, especially one instigated by Lio, but Lio’s always been good at giving him a run for his money. 

His resolve is whittling away with every rough pull at his hair, every gentle tug on his foreskin as he strains to gain leverage. Galo’s hips sometimes go too fast and he slips, dick missing the boot entirely, he can feel his eyes watering with every suck he makes against Lio’s thin shaft, and to make matters worse Lio won’t stop _ talking. _

“Galo, you looked so good cleaning my boots earlier, I think— use your tongue more— I think you look best on your knees for me,” Lio laughs, cocking his leg to give Galo a more solid surface to rut against. Galo pops off Lio with a heavy gasp but gets right back to work, paying special attention to tongue at Lio’s head on the pull-out, knowing what has to happen before he can fully focus on his own pleasure. 

“You’re a smart boy, Galo. I want— you already know what I want, actually,” he mutters, entranced, eyes wild and never leaving Galo. Lio laughs a little louder when Galo whimpers out _ mhm_, and Galo wants him with a passion. It’s not about the ache in his thighs or the desperation of his own lust, it’s about _ Lio _ and what Galo can do to thank him for making them both feel good. Galo redoubles his effort, senses clouded with how roughly Lio pulls his hair and fucks his mouth, how heavily Lio leans on him for support, and the shamelessly loud noises Lio graces him with. 

“Behave and make me come, okay? I’m close, Galo—” Lio moans, readjusting his grip on Galo’s hair. Galo strains to look up but he needs to see what he’s done to Lio, what Lio looks like when he falls apart. Lio’s nothing short of a vision, bright eyes staring desperately back at Galo, flush high on his cheeks and sweat forming on his brow because Lio’s _ still _ mostly dressed. The pride welling up in him is a dam ready to burst so he takes Lio in as much as he can and sucks, tongue lapping at him for the added sensation, doing anything and everything to make Lio feel good. 

“Galo, _ Galo_— coming, love, I’m coming—” and Lio’s breathtaking when he finishes, hands tightly fisted in Galo’s hair, hips quaking in Galo’s hold and breath catching like he’s not sure whether to sob or scream. He swallows dutifully, only pulling off when Lio loosens his grip on his head. Lio relaxes, staring lovingly down at Galo with a sated gaze, but Galo doesn’t dare move. He’s pressed awkwardly into Lio’s boot, dick red with neglect and heart much too vulnerable to withstand the wait much longer. How could he, after seeing the man he wants so fiercely choose _ Galo _ to fulfill his pleasure? 

Of course Lio notices, lips lifted in a satisfied grin. He always notices. 

“L-Lio,” Galo starts, hips shifting, distracted. 

“Do you want your reward, Galo? You did such a good job,” Lio praises, holding nothing back now that he knows the sheer control Galo allows him. Galo lets out the sweetest whine, arms redirecting to climb Lio’s leg like a vine and head furiously nodding in submission. Lio’s orgasm and all it entailed (not to mention Lio slipping out of his dominating role just to call Galo _ love _ of all things) only served as gasoline to make everything hotter, and he feels entirely reliant on Lio after serving his purpose. 

Lio falls back into his seat and gazes down at Galo. He pushes his leg out, giving Galo the go-ahead, and can’t help but laugh out loud when Galo takes the offering without hesitation 

“You’re so pitiful, Galo,” Lio teases, leg lazily bouncing up and down while Galo mindlessly ruts against his boot. 

And he _ is _pitiful, Galo realizes. What a sight he must make, with drool on his chin, tears on his cheeks, and hands gripping Lio’s thigh like a lifeline. But he feels no shame in dirtying Lio’s boot with how sloppily he thrusts, not when Lio’s gently petting his hair and speaking to him in a tone laced with love rather than indifference. 

“Lio, Lio please, I wanna come—” Galo can’t stop squirming, head nodding forward and banging on Lio’s knee, thighs shaking with the effort it takes to angle his hips just so. It’s building steadily with every word, so if Lio keeps talking—

“Yeah? Are you gonna come like this? Rutting against my boot like a dog—” Scratch that. It’s not just building, Galo is less than ten seconds from complete detonation. Lio need only say the word and Galo’s in pieces. 

“_Yes_, I’ll be your dog, baby, anything you want—” It’s nonsensical at this point, but Lio loves him, Lio doesn’t care how silly he sounds because he’s going to make Galo—

“I _ want _you to come for me, Galo,” Lio chuckles. 

It hardly takes more than a word, Galo swiveling his hips wide and dirty to keep his dick against the boot as he comes, crying out the name of the man who blessed him with this freedom. 

He collapses backwards, shoulders popping with the stretch and lungs heaving for air. God, that was— incredible, amazing, Lio, _ how did you do that? _

Lio laughs, amused and pleased, but he taps impatiently against Galo's knee. Galo makes a questioning noise and glances to where Lio is holding out his cum-splashed boot. 

"You're not done yet."

**Author's Note:**

> real quick the reason galo holds up 3 fingers to ask for water is because the japanese word for water is 'mizu' and 3 can be read as 'mi', PLUS 3 fingers looks like a 'w'
> 
> next on the list is my very own PROMARE KINKTOBER PROMPT LIST! you can find that (and me) on [twitter](https://twitter.com/icarosian) !!!
> 
> if you read this we're automatically in love so jot that down


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